SpiderMan 2: Go for the ultimate spin again!
by Steel Dragon
Summary: This may be good news or bad, but I just got a new PC, and will start work on this again very soon! Stay tuned!
1. Like Father, Like Son

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Spider Man, Peter Parker, Mary Jane, Harry Osborne, The Green Goblin (who is only mentioned, I don't plan to ressurect him, in case you were worried), Otto Octavious, Dr. Octopus or any of the other Marvel properties moetioned hereafter. They are all property of Marvel Comics. Spider-Man: The Motion Picture is owned by Sony Pictures. All I am is a True Believer, who has followed the sordid tales of Peter Parker for 17 of my 20 years. I'm not making a dime off this, I just did it for fun. EXCELSIOR!)  
  
THIS TAKES UP RIGHT WHERE THE MOVIE LEAVES OFF!  
  
Peter Parker remembers the day Norman Osborn was buried. As Peter walked away from Mary Jane that day, he felt his own heart break. He had been in love with her since he was 6, and he just knew deep down that she was the one. A staggering realization for 19 years old, but the last two months had made Peter mature beyond his years. Maturity that was shown when Mary Jane opened up her heart and professed her love for him. How much he wanted to tell her his true feelings, that he loved her too. But he knew the consequences all too well. He had the life he had dreamt of for 13 years handed to him on a silver platter, and he refused it. Why? Because he remembered all too well the position Norman Osborn, a.k.a. The Green Goblin had placed him in just four days ago when the battled atop the Brooklyn Bridge. In one hand he held Mary Jane, and in the other a skycab full of children. "This is why only fools are heros," Osborn cackled, "because you never know when some lunatic will come along with a sadistic choice." Thankfully, Peter was able to save them all, but, he didn't ever want to be faced with that decision again. That is why he didn't tell MJ his feelings, he never wanted her to be placed in that position again. His life was one of servitude. He had great power....and with great power comes great responsibility...  
  
Mary Jane watched Peter walk away, defeated. She was so sure that she was right this time. She had been wrong about a dozen different jock losers in high school, she had been wrong about Harry, she had been wrong about Spider-Ma....wait a second! The kiss! Mary Jane touched her lips and whirled around to look at Peter in a split-second. It couldn't be...could it? MJ gasped, as her heart raced. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach, as she whispered aloud, "Peter, you're Spider-Man!" She took a quick look around to make sure nobody had heard her. There wasn't anyone in the vicinity. Her heart must have been beating a thousand times a second, or so it felt, and her mind was filling with thoughts just as quickly. What should she do? Should she call out to him? Should she stay quiet? Should she run after him? Should she walk away? She wanted nothing more than to run after him, to hound him and not relent until she made him see that she loved him! She was on the verge of tears until a calming thought passed over her, She remembered the hospital, and all of the awkward encounters the two had. Suddenly another thought came on her, another realization that escaped her lips in a whisper, "he loves me!" She turned and walked the other way, down the little road and out the cemetery gates. Mary Jane had hope, and a plan was slowly forming in her mind. She had been through too much heartache to let this slip away.  
  
Harry proceeded solemnly towards the waiting Rolls Royce, where a driver opened the door for him. He got in the car and the door closed. Harry then watched out the window, where Mary Jane and Peter were kissing. He looked away. MJ was supposed to be his girlfriend, Peter was supposed to be his friend, but the night before he died, Harry's father Norman showed him just how friendly Peter was. Not only did Peter take Mary Jane away from him, but as Spider-Man he killed his father. Yes, Harry knew. Norman had showed him everything. The glider, the suit, everything! Harry knew that his father had been the Green Goblin, and that Peter Parker was Spider-Man. What he didn't know, was what to do about it. He was now the CEO of Oscorp, which was suddenly flourishing once again, thanks to the Green Goblin bombing its top competitor. Harry had money, and he had experimental weaponry. He even had the performance-enhancing serum that turned his father into the Goblin. He didn't have the glider or the exoskeleton, or the know-how to rebuild them. They were prototypes, and everyone who knew where the plans were kept was dead. It didn't matter, the original weaponry had failed anyway. What he needed was new weaponry, and since he didn't know how to build it, he would need to recruit someone who did. "Where to Mr Osborn," the driver asked.  
  
"Oscorp, Walters," Harry paused, "I have some work to do."  
  
Harry Osborn had spent the better part of a month holed up in his spacious office at the Oscorp building. Many nights he had slept there, when he did sleep that is. He would go days without eating, or bathing. He was growing a scraggly beard. All because he was looking for something. For some one, rather. A weapons designer who could build him the things he needed to take down Spider-Man. He checked everywhere. Internet resume sites, his competitors' employee rosters, the US Government, and recent applicants to Oscorp. He thought he might have found the guy once. A former Soviet who designed armaments for the KGB, however when Harry delved deeper he found that the man had died under the conspicuous heading "natural causes". That one almost broke his spirit. He hung up the phone after receiving the news, and sunk back in his chair. Then, out of the corner of his eye he spotted the file that would change his life and reinvigorate his mission. He picked it up, and began to read from it. The man in question had just left Stark Enterprises, although Harry couldn't see a reason why. He had an impeccable work record, an outstanding education (three Ph.D.'s from MIT), and he hadn't missed a day of work in twelve years. He wasn't laid off, he wasn't fired, he just quit. Now his application was sitting on Harry's desk. He had an impressive list of references, including a five-page letter from Tony Stark himself. Hey, it was worth a shot! Harry pushed a button on his desk, which buzzed his secretary out in the next room. Her voice came over the intercom, "Yes Mr. Osborn?"  
  
"Linda," Harry began, "I need you to get a contact for a man who recently applied with us."  
  
"What's his name sir," she asked.  
  
"Octavious. Doctor Otto Octavious."  
  
The passing month had been kind to Peter, well, mostly. Harry moved out, deciding to inhabit his family's spacious mansion in the wake of his father's death. Peter had been given an exclusive contract with the Daily Bugle. It probably had something to do with the Spider-Man photos he had sold to Time Magazine after the recent battle he had with the Green Goblin. Peter was the only photographer who could get a decent shot of the Web Slinger (funny how that worked out), and JJJ wanted exclusive rights. Peter knew that Jonah would make a small fortune reselling the photos to national publications, but Jameson was paying him enough that Peter didn't mind. Besides, he would make some royalties off the photos anyway. It was enough for him to go to school and afford most of his monthly bills on. Most, but not all. He couldn't afford to keep living in his loft alone, now that Harry was gone. Harry offered to Let Peter stay in the Osborn Mansion. It was far too big for Harry to occupy alone, but Harry had the drawback of wanting Spider-Man dead. Peter figured that since he was Spider-Man it wouldn't be a good idea to live under the same roof with Harry. The loft was a quarterly rental, so it was paid for the next two months. Peter needed another place or a new room mate by then.  
  
Mary Jane had received much of the same kindness that had come Peter's way. She was suddenly famous. Having a couple super-beings play catch with you over the Brooklyn Bridge will do that. She had been on the cover of Rolling Stone, billed as "Spidey's Girl". She was on Letterman just last week, and would be on Rosie O'Donnell next Thursday. MJ knew that this would not sustain her, but, it certainly was publicity. She was getting her name around. On Letterman she mentioned that she wanted to act, and that got the agents calling. She had narrowed the list of possibilities down to three. Of course, her social status had shot through the roof. Every remotely single guy in the Tri-State area was pining for a chance to date her, but, she had long-ago narrowed that list down to one. She hadn't spoken to Peter in three days, but she had been keeping up with his escapades, both in and out of costume. In costume, he was busting up crimes and bringing in bad guys at a frantic pace. It was almost routine. Pick up a paper, see Spider-Man on the front page. Turn on the TV, and see some story about the Web-Slinger. Howard Stern was promoting a contest for anyone who could uncover Spider-Man's identity. The reward was growing by the week.  
  
MJ couldn't believe her own selfishness. She knew just about any woman in America, no, any woman in the world would trade places with her in half a heartbeat. She had all the doors opening for her, and still she wanted more. Was it so much to ask for? All she wanted was one man. An ordinary guy with a knack for photographing Spider-Man. Of course, Mary Jane thought this was an incredible feat, because she knew that Peter Parker was Spider-Man. She knew it from two kisses; one from Spider-Man in a rainy alley, and the other from Peter Parker in a cemetery. She left the cemetery with hope, and what she thought was a plan to get Peter to come around. She knew he loved her, but, she wasn't sure why he didn't accept her love that day. After all they had been through in the last two months, why wouldn't he want someone around who understood him. Everyone needed love, right? Even Spider-Man needs love, doesn't he? He's spectacular, but he's also human. She needed love, why didn't he? The thought frustrated her to no end. It angered her, it saddened her. It made her hit the walls in frustration, it brought her to tears. Night after night, she went to bed with the solitary question on her mind: WHY?  
  
She pushed the thought aside as the phone rang in her apartment. She thought it was another agent. She wanted to tell them to go to hell, she was tired of dealing with him. They all had the same line of questioning. "Hi, how are you doing? Have you made a decision yet?" It could very easily be done by recording. She wasn't taking calls right now, she let her machine get it.  
  
"Hi," the message began, "this is Mary Jane. I'm not here, so sing your song at the beep."  
  
"Hey MJ," Mary Jane shot up and darted for the phone upon recognizing the voice, "it's Peter. I was going to be in your end of town later, I thought I might drop by..."  
  
"Peter wait!" Mary Jane just about tore the phone off the wall to answer it, "I'm here. Sorry, I thought you might have been another agent."  
  
"No, would it help if I was," he asked.  
  
"No," she laughed, "it actually helps that you're not. I'm getting sick of them."  
  
"Well you did want to be famous," Peter warned.  
  
"Yeah, be careful what you wish for huh," she replied.  
  
"Hey," Peter said, "you said it, not me."  
  
"What about you," she inquired. "Aren't you getting any fame from this whole ordeal? You are the only man who can get Spidey's picture."  
  
"Well Cannon is building me a signature series camera." Peter paused, before remembering, "and Kodak is going to pay me to use their new brand of film. That's all the fame I care for. Hey MJ, do you want to get something to eat later?"  
  
"I'd love to," she knew Peter couldn't see the smile she lit up with when he asked her, but he probably heard it in her voice.  
  
"Great," he said. "I have to drop off some photos at Mr. Jameson's office, and pick up a prescription for Aunt May. I'll be by at 6:45."  
  
Doctor Otto Octavious arrived for his 3:30pm appointment promptly at 3:27. Harry Osborn's secretary buzzed him in, and soon Otto found himself inside the spacious windowed room. It had been left in virtually the same condition by Harry as it was by his late father. Harry had his back tuned to Dr. Octavious as he entered. His appearance had changed for the better in the last two days. He'd gotten home, gotten some sleep, bathed, shaved, and had a couple decent meals. Today he was the picture of office perfection. He'd cut his hair and wore it slicked back, and was wearing a sharp Armani double-breasted suit. He turned to face the good doctor, who was waiting before Harry's desk. "My apologies Doctor," he began, "I didn't hear you walk in."  
  
"Quite alright," the chunky bespectacled man replied, in a thick Austrian accent. "May I offer my condolences on the loss of your father, he was an exceptionally brilliant man."  
  
Harry reached across the desk and shook hands with the good Doctor. "You knew my father," he asked.  
  
"Only by reputation," Otto replied.  
  
"Please, have a seat." Harry gestured to a chair in front of the desk, and both man sat down. "So tell me about yourself Doctor Octavious."  
  
"Otto please."  
  
"Very well, Otto it is then," Harry concurred, before restating, "tell me about yourself."  
  
"Well," the good doctor began, "I was born in Austria in 1962, the youngest of three children. My father moved the family to America when I was six."  
  
"Why," Harry asked.  
  
"My father was a lumberjack. For three generations the Octavious men have been lumberjacks," Otto told him. "Father wanted a better life for us, and after the Second World War America was seen as the land of opportunity. My father had wanted to move here since before he married my mother. He had applied several times, and was refused each time. In 1968 he was accepted so he moved to Boston, and worked as a shipbuilder. He would put in 18 hours a day sometimes, so that our family could get by here in America."  
  
"I see on your personnel file that you have two older brothers," Harry began, "what became of them?"  
  
"My oldest brother, Gustav was fascinated by the ships my father would help build," Dr. Octavious said. "He enlisted in the Navy when he was 17. He served until he was 23, before being honorably discharged and working on a cruise ship. He still serves on one to this day. My middle brother, Wolfgang, he was a smart one. I think he may have been smarter than I. He was very troubled, though...schizophrenia." Harry gave an understanding nod. "It set in during his second semester at Johns Hopkins. He lives in a home now, where they treat those sort of things. He is very happy now."  
  
"Every cloud has a silver lining," Harry said, Otto nodded in agreement. "I see here you have your Ph.D. in Atomic Energy, another one in Propulsion Technology and a third on in Ballistics." Harry paused, before catching one more, "and a Masters in Psychology from Syracuse."  
  
Doctor Octavious was humble in responding, "I did that one in my spare time."  
  
"Doctor," Harry exclaimed, "it's quite incredible, wether you acknowledge it or not. I read your file from Stark Enterprises, it says you designed the propulsion systems for Iron Man, and you built War Machine from scratch. What I don't understand is why you left!"  
  
"Because Dr. Stark was no longer doing anything innovative or exciting," Otto announced. "When I started working there in 1990 Iron Man was still in the testing phase. Dr. Stark still had the desire to create and experiment. This was evident when he charged me with building War Machine."  
  
"I have always wondered Doctor," Harry paused, "what is the difference between Iron Man and War Machine." Harry knew the difference, but this question would set up one of the two critical questions of the interview.  
  
"Iron Man is a defensive weapon. Light, maneuverable and elusive," Otto explained, "War Machine is an offensive weapon. It carries heavy artillery and stronger armor that Iron Man."  
  
"And do you like to build offensive weapons?"  
  
"Yes," Otto began, "there is just something about designing something for the front lines. Defense serves its purpose, but there are other men who can worry about it. Much like American football; offense and defense are separate units. I prefer to play offense."  
  
A smile tugged lightly at Harry's mouth. He had gotten the answer he was hoping for with that question. However, he was about to ask the most critical question of the interview, "what are your feeling on Spider-Man?"  
  
'Forgive me Mr. Osborn," Doctor Octavious cleared his throat before continuing, "but I fail to see the relevance of that question."  
  
"Fair enough," Harry said, "Let me explain. Oscorp has recently been contracted by the Department of Defense to develop a means of incarcerating Spider-Man, or even to eliminate him if capture proves impossible. They feel he is a time bomb and that the clock is ticking." It wasn't entirely a lie, the DOD had expressed concern about the somewhat renegade arachnid, particularly after the September 11th attacks. However, their concern has only been a minor one, and Spidey's vanquishing of the Green Goblin had gone a long way to sooth their minds. Harry continued his fraudulent reasoning, "I am looking for a man or some men to put on this project right away."  
  
"My honest opinion," Otto began, "is that Spider-Man is no better than that terrorist he vanquished. The Green...Gander, wasn't it?"  
  
"Goblin," Harry corrected.  
  
"That was it," Otto concluded. "Spider-Man is no better than the Green Goblin was. He is obviously a killer, after all, the Green..." Otto looked to Harry, forgetting the name again.  
  
"Goblin?"  
  
"Yes," the good Doctor continued, "The Green Goblin was never found. Only his suit, which was pierced through the abdomen."  
  
"The glider was found too," Harry noted.  
  
"That's right," Otto recalled. "It was destroyed as I recall. Spider-Man probably killed the Goblin and dumped his body in hopes of salvaging the weaponry."  
  
"Which was stolen from us," Harry exaggerated.  
  
"Indeed. Spider-Man is a rogue," Otto explained his point of view. "I believe he has killed before, and he will kill again if he isn't stopped."  
  
"Well," Harry began, "if you want the job, you will get your chance to stop him."  
  
"It would be my distinct pleasure," Otto announced.  
  
Harry stuck his hand across the table, and shook Otto's hand once more, "welcome aboard Doctor Octavious. You start Monday morning at 9am." 


	2. A Villan is Born

Mary Jane Watson woke up to a knock on her door, she glanced over at the clock, which read 10:30am. She hadn't made it to bed, sleeping in her clothes on her couch. She had been stood up by Peter Parker last night. She wasn't mad though. She saw on the 11 o'clock news where a gang had stolen a truckload of explosives and led police on a sensitive high-speed chase. Spider-Man had to intervene, because the police couldn't take any measures to disable the vehicle. One stray bullet or sudden impact might have wiped out six blocks. What does Spider-Man do to stop that? Well after catching up to them and waiting for them to turn onto a barren street, he fires enough webbing into their back tires that eventually it sticks. Whoever was at her door knocked again, and MJ called out, "Just a minute." She took a quick look in a nearby mirror. Her hair was a mess, but she didn't have time for that, she pulled it back in a pony tail and looked through the peephole. She smiled broadly, it was Peter. She unlocked the door and opened it, to find him standing in the hall with coffee and doughnuts.  
  
"I kinda got held up for dinner," he began, "so I thought I'd bring breakfast instead."  
  
"How sweet," she said. "What happened?"  
  
"The bus I was on got held up because of the big chase last night," he explained. "Several streets were closed. Once I heard Spider-Man was involved, I went on foot to try and track it down."  
  
"So you could get some pictures," MJ asked.  
  
"Yeah," Peter replied.  
  
"And did you," she inquired. Peter handed her the carrier tray with the coffee on it, and pulled a rolled-up copy of the Daily Bugle from his back pocket. He unrolled it and held it up for her to see a picture of the truck, webbed into place, and five gang members webbed to the side of it, with Spider-Man standing front and center, in a "thumbs up" pose. "Wow. Hey, why don't you come in and wait for a second. I just woke up, I need to freshen up and change clothes."  
  
"If you let me take pictures of it, it will save the Playboy guys some time," he joked.  
  
"How did you hear about that," she asked, half-shocked, half-laughing.  
  
"The Internet," was his simple reply.  
  
"Well I turned them down thank you very much," she stated, matter-of- factly.  
  
"I know," he said, laughing, "I read that part too."  
  
Otto Octavious sat in his spacious apartment on Central Park West. He was thrilled. Yesterday he had gotten a job with Oscorp, a company he believed to be progressing in the right direction. He would now be a part of that progress, and for his first assignment all he had to do was come up with a way to incarcerate Spider-Man. It was Friday morning, and he didn't officially start until the following Monday, but he was already thinking about the design. On his laptop he was playing with the idea of a nanorobotic exoskeleton. Not like the one the Green Goblin had worn. This one was different. When he was at MIT, working on his third Ph.D. Otto developed a harness with four robotic arms which he had used for handling hazardous materials safely. It was brilliant, if not awkward, earning him the nickname "Doctor Octopus". He was coming back to the idea now, because he thought that a modification on the previous design was the solution he was looking for. The arms would be long enough to keep the Wall Crawler at a safe distance, and if they were given enough power, they could be strong enough to compete with Spider-Man's own impressive strength. The problem he was having was coming up with a way to power it. He was thinking of using a small nuclear fuel cell. In fact, it was probably the best way to go, but he had all weekend to ponder the details.  
  
Mary Jane emerged from her boudoir, after showering, doing her hair, and changing into some new clothes. She found Peter sitting on her couch, with his feet on the table. He held the Daily Bugle in one hand, folded open, and a red Sharpie pen in the other. MJ cleared her throat, and Pete looked up. "Oh, you're done," he noted. "I took the liberty of making some more coffee in your Mr. Coffee, the stuff I brought had gotten cold."  
  
"Ok," she saw him start to get up. "Don't get up, stay there, I'll get us some."  
  
"Oh, alright." Peter turned his attention back to the paper. Soon after MJ came into the room with two steaming cups. Peter set down his paper on the table and took one from MJ. She sat on the other end of the couch next to him.  
  
"So what are you reading," she asked, nodding towards the paper.  
  
"Want ads," Peter confessed. "Harry moved out. I need to find another room mate by February. Well, that or I need to find a new place. I was thinking about maybe moving on campus."  
  
"NO," she shouted, wide-eyed. She froze as Peter stared at her, probably curious about her over-reaction. She didn't want him to move on-campus at Empire State University. He already lived far enough away as it is. However she needed a cover for her present situation, so she explained, "you don't want to live on-campus. The food is horrible, the dorms are noisy, and the rooms are cramped."  
  
"You're right," he granted her. "Besides I wouldn't have any room for my hobby." It was difficult to change in to Spider-Man with someone in the room with you. "All things being equal, I'd like to keep the loft. I turned one of the closets into a dark room."  
  
"Exactly," it hadn't been the smoothest save, but Peter went for it. Suddenly, MJ had an epiphany: "What about me," she asked.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I could be your new room mate," she contended.  
  
Peter was taking a drink of coffee at the time, and he had to spit it back into his cup at that one. "No," he said, "I don't think that would be a good idea." Twelve years of living next door to Mary Jane, and thinking she didn't want him was bad enough. Living under the same roof with her, knowing she loved him and he couldn't have her would be too much for Peter.  
  
"Why not," she began, "I have to move anyway."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I need to be closer to downtown," MJ told him. "With everything that's happening to me, I need to have better access to Manhattan. Brooklyn is close, but you live right there! I mean I could walk to most of the places I need to go from your place."  
  
"I don't know..." Peter sounded tentative. Mary Jane could hear his resolve weakening.  
  
"Come on, we've lived around each other for all of our lives," she argued. "Besides, who would you rather have move in with you; someone you know, or some faceless ad that might be an axe-wielding nut job?"  
  
"I can take care of myself, " Peter rebutted.  
  
"Okay," she began, "who would you rather I moved in with? You..."  
  
Peter laughed, completing the sentence for her, "...or an axe-wielding nut job?"  
  
She smiled, melting Peter's resistance like a hot knife through butter. "Exactly. I'm going to be getting contracted here soon. I've become the most sought-after pet project. They're going to pay for me to get acting lessons and all that. It's not like I'd ditch on the rent or anything."  
  
"That wasn't it," Peter tried to summon one final defense, even though he knew he had already lost. "It wouldn't be...appropriate."  
  
"Peter Parker," she snapped, "who are you kidding? I saw your little eyes through my bedroom window more than once." MJ smiled as Peter turned bright red. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?"  
  
"Maybe once or twice," Peter admitted. MJ glared at him, setting down her cup of coffee and folding her arms over her chest. "Okay, just about every night since Junior High."  
  
"Uh-huh..."  
  
Peter looked away, accepting defeat. "Do you need any help moving?"  
  
Peter and MJ had spent most of this Saturday carrying boxes upstairs to the loft. This was their third trip. The first trip they moved her bedroom, the bed, the dressers, her clothes. The second trip was devoted to her kitchen. She didn't take the stove or the fridge, and she didn't have a dishwasher. But they took the pots and pans and such, and the contents of MJ's fridge and cabinets, which were then placed into Peter's fridge and cabinets. Now they were taking the rest of her things, which consisted of her couch, her coffee table, and a dozen or so more boxes. Having access to a cargo elevator made it slightly easier, but it was still a chore. They had borrowed Aunt May's new Ford Taurus, the one she had bought with the insurance money from the old car being totaled by the carjacker who shot Uncle Ben. They also had borrowed a trailer from a man who lived down the street from their old houses. Finally, Peter had enough. He turned to MJ, "Hey, I have a great idea."  
  
"What's that," she asked.  
  
"There's this great Chinese restaurant about four blocks that way," Peter said, pointing down the street. "Why don't you go pick us up some take- out, and when you get back we'll take a break."  
  
"Okay, that sounds good to me," she reached in the car for her purse. "It's on me this time, you got breakfast yesterday."  
  
"Okay," Peter watched as she walked away. Then he went to work, unloading boxes and tossing them into the lobby. He finished unloading the car, and the trailer, piling boxes into the lobby. All that was left was a MJ's big couch, and her coffee table in the trailer. Peter took these one at a time, even though he could have taken the whole load at once: car, trailer and all. However, he didn't want to explain himself to a few dozen New Yorkers passing by. Once he had everything inside, he closed the front door.  
  
He took a careful look around, to make sure nobody else was in the area. Once he was satisfied, he set about piling the boxes onto the couch, he would rely on his Spider-Sense to alert him now, as he webbed the boxes in place on the sofa. He didn't sense anyone else present, so he picked up the coffee table and webbed it in place on top of the whole mess. He walked down to the end of the hall, just a few feet away and stepped in the elevator. He turned and shot a webline at the couch, and quickly drug it into the elevator. The elevator arrived on Peter's floor. He stepped out, less cautious now, since he was the only one who lived on this floor at the moment. That made him all the more anxious when his Spider-Sense went off. He listened carefully, it sounded like someone was in his loft. Indeed he heard two voices. Peter crept up to the door, which was left open, but was shut now. He listened in.  
  
"Man, this guy don't got nothin," a voice announced.  
  
"Yeah, just some women's underwear and boxes and shit," another concurred. "Let's wait until he comes back and stick him up for his wallet," the second voice continued.  
  
Peter had made it to the roof before he pulled off his clothes to reveal his costume. Now he was crawling down the side of his apartment building and onto the balcony of his room. Quietly he moved across the floor to the hall. He knew just where to step to avoid the creaky parts of the floor. The would-be burglars sat on either of Peter's recliners by the window. Spider-Man ascended onto the ceiling, making his way over the tow young men. One was a Latino kid in his early 20's, the other was a white-boy, probably had Irish blood in him, judging from his red hair and freckles. Both young men wore gang colors. Spidey cleared his throat and the two of them looked up. "Oh shit," the Latino kid said.  
  
"Hello boys," Spidey said, "I'm here to collect for the Human Society." The two kids jumped up and ran towards the door. "Don't tell me you already gave at the office!" Spider-Man shot a pair of web lines at their feet, tripping them inches short of the door. He lunged across the room, glancing off the door and landing in front of them.  
  
"Hey man," one of them asked, "what are you doing here? Is this your crib or something."  
  
"Way to go Carlo," the white kid chimed in. "You gotta go and pick Spider- Man's crib to rob. SPIDER-MAN'S CRIB!"  
  
"MAN, SHUT UP MICKEY," Carlo shot back. Both men had made it to their feet and were backing away from Spidey, towards the window. "Hey Spidey, you want some money?"  
  
Spider-Man caught one of Mary Jane's pictures on the floor. He picked it up, it was her Rolling Stone cover, framed. "Boys, this place happens to belong to a very close friend of mine," he said, showing them the picture, before tossing it onto a pile of MJ's clothes.  
  
"Oh man, I seen that girl," Mickey recalled. "She's like your lady or something, ain't she?"  
  
"We didn't know this was your girls' house. We'll leave and never come back," Carlo pleaded.  
  
Spider-Man was about to come back with some more witty repartee, but his Spider-Sense went off. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mary Jane, two and a half blocks away, returning with two plastic bags. He grabbed the boys, one in each arm and lunged out the window, passing over the street un- noticed and landing on top of another apartment building across the street. He shoved them both down, and webbed them in place. Both of them were screaming bloody murder, so Spidey gagged them each with a quick shot. The webbing would hold them in place for a couple hours, and they would eventually get away, but Peter had more pressing concerns. He shot a web line out and swung across the street, around his building to the back.  
  
Mary Jane glanced up just in time to see Spider-Man swing across the sky. She knew exactly where he was going. She was a block and a half away, she needed to hurry. This may be her chance to catch Peter and confront him. If she caught him in-costume there would be no way he could deny his dual identity. She sprinted up the street, skillfully darting around pedestrians and dodging traffic at the street crossings.  
  
Meanwhile, Peter had grabbed his clothes and ducked inside his loft. He ripped the Spider-Man mask off, shed the bodysuit and stashed them in the closet. He pulled his socks on, and tossed his shirt and his shoes down by the door. Then he lunged across the loft in his boxers, pulling his Levi's on in one deft motion, just in time to land in his shoes. Peter tied his shoelaces and slipped into his shirt as he heard the elevator rumble towards the ground floor. He threw open the door, shot a webline to the couch, which still had all the boxes and the coffee table webbed in place. In a matter of milliseconds he had the couch into the loft and he closed the door. He frantically went around the couch, peeling off the strands of Spider-Web he had used on it earlier. He heard the elevator arrive, and Mary Jane came sprinting down the hall. She threw the door open, half a second after Peter had balled the webbing up and thrown it out the window. MJ stood there, huffing and puffing, and cursing herself. She was too late. "Mary Jane," Peter gasped, "are you alright?"  
  
"Yeah," she panted.  
  
"Did you run all the way here from Ming Dynasty," he asked.  
  
"Uh-huh," her answer came between heavy breaths.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I...didn't want the food to get cold," MJ explained, hiding her true intent. 


End file.
